Dante Character Analysis

To race now over better waves, my ship
of mind – alive again – hoists sail, and leaves
behind its little keel the gulf that proved so cruel.

And I’ll sing, now, about that second realm
where human spirits purge themselves from stain,
becoming worthy to ascend to Heaven.

Here, too, dead poetry will rise again.
For now, you sacred Muses, I am yours.
So let Calliope, a little, play her part […]

Celestial, at the stern, the pilot stood –
beatitude, it seemed, inscribed on him –
and, ranged within, a hundred spirits more.

‘In exitu Israel de Aegypto’:
they sang this all together, in one voice,
with all the psalm that’s written after this.

[…]

The crowd that now remained, it seemed, was strange,
astray there, wondering, looking all around,
as people do, assessing what is new.

It’s madness if we hope that rational minds
should ever follow to its end the road
that one true being in three persons takes.

Content yourselves with quia, human kind.
Had you been able to see everything,
Mary need not have laboured to give birth.

You saw the fruitless yearning of those men
who might have had that yearning satisfied,
now given them eternally to mourn.

Plato, I mean, and Aristotle, too, and many more with them.’

This final prayer is made, O dearest Lord,
not for ourselves (we now have no such need).
We speak for those behind us, who’ve remained.’

Then praying, for themselves and us, ‘God speed’,
these shadows made their way beneath such loads
as sometimes in our nightmares can be seen. […]

We surely ought to help them cleanse the marks
that they bore hence – till, light in weight and pure,
they’ve power to rise towards the wheeling stars.

We were, by now, ascending that great stair.
And I, it seemed, was lighter now by far
than I had seemed while still on level ground.

So, ‘Tell me, sir,’ I said, ‘what weight has now
been lifted from me, so I almost feel
no strain at all in walking on my way?’

He answered: ‘When the “P”s that mark your brow,
remaining still, though growing now more faint,
have all (as is the first) been sheared away,

your steps will then be conquered by good will
and, being thus impelled towards the heights,
will feel no strain but only sheer delight.’

Because your human longings point to where
portions grow smaller in shared fellowship,
meanness of mind must make the bellows sigh.

If love, though, seeking for the utmost sphere,
should ever wrench your longings to the skies,
such fears would have no place within your breast.

For, there, the more that we can speak of “ours”,
the more each one possesses of the good
and, in that cloister, caritas burns brighter.

You, living there, derive the cause of all
straight from the stars alone, as if, alone,
these made all move in mere necessity.

Yet were that so, in you would be destroyed
the freedom of your will – and justice fail
in giving good its joy and grief its ill.

The stars initiate your vital moves.
I don’t say all. And yet suppose I did,
you’re given light to know what’s good and bad,

and free will, too, which if it can endure
beyond its early battles with the stars,
and if it’s nourished well, will conquer all.

So law is needed to apply this brake.
A king is needed, with the skill to see
the towers of that true city, at the least.

The laws are there. Who sets his hand to these?
There’s no one. For the shepherd out ahead,
though he can chew the cud, has not split hooves.

Neither creator nor created thing
was ever, dearest son, without’ (he starts)
‘the love of mind or nature. You know that.

The natural love can never go astray.
The other, though, may err when wrongly aimed,
or else through too much vigour or the lack. […]

Hence, of necessity, you’ll understand
that love must be the seed of all good powers,
as, too, of penalties your deeds deserve.

If love is slack in drawing you to view –
or win – that good, then this ledge, where we’re now,
after your fit repentance, martyrs you.

And other goods will not bring happiness,
not happy in themselves, nor that good source
of being, seed and flower of all that’s good.

Soon they were on us. For they moved at speed,
racing towards us, that great multitude.
And two ahead were shouting, weepingly. […]

‘Quick! Quick! Let’s lose no time through lack of love!’
so all of those behind now shouted out.
‘For zeal in doing good turns grace new green.’

Because our eyes were fixed on earthly things,
at no point raised to look towards the heights,
so justice sinks them here within the earth.

Since avarice extinguished all our love
for any good – and so good works were lost –
justice here holds us tight within its grip.

Tremors strike here when any soul feels pure
and rises, newly cleansed, to start its climb.
And that cry follows as the soul ascends.

The will alone gives proof of purity
when, wholly free to change its sacred place,
it aids and sweeps the soul up, willing well.

While I, through these green boughs, fixed searching sight
as might some hunter tracking little birds,
who spends his life in vain on that pursuit),
my more-than-father spoke. ‘Dear son,’ he said,
‘do come along. The time appointed us
should be more usefully divided out.’

And all these people, weeping as they sing,
because their gullets led them past all norms,
are here remade as holy, thirsting, hungering.

Cravings to eat and drink are fired in us
by perfumes from that fruit and from the spray
that spreads in fans above the greenery.

Open your heart. Receive the coming truth.
Know this: when once the foetal brain is brought
to full articulation in the womb,

the Primal Cause of Motion turns in joy
to see so much of Nature’s art, and breathes
new breath of spirit filled with power within,

which draws all active elements it finds
into its being and thus forms one soul
which lives and feels and turns as conscious self.

Over my suppliant hands entwined, I leaned
just staring at the fire, imagining
bodies of human beings I’d seen burn.

And both my trusted guides now turned to me.
And Virgil spoke, to say: ‘My dearest son,
here may be agony but never death.

Remember this! Remember! And if I
led you to safety on Geryon’s back,
what will I do when now so close to God?

Believe this. And be sure. Were you to stay
a thousand years or more wombed in this fire,
you’d not be made the balder by one hair.

Then, firmly, Virgil fixed his eyes on me,
saying: ‘The temporal and eternal fires
you’ve seen, my son, and now you’re in a place
where I, through my own powers, can tell no more.

I’ve drawn you here by skill and searching mind.
Now take what pleases you to be your guide.
You’re now beyond the steeps, beyond all straits. […]

No longer look to me for signs or word.
Your will is healthy, upright, free and whole.
And not to heed that sense would be a fault.
Lord of yourself, I crown and mitre you.’

Risen from body into spirit-form,
my goodness, power and beauty grew more strong.
Yet I to him was then less dear, less pleasing.

He turned his steps to paths that were not true.
He followed images of failing good
which cannot meet, in full, their promises.

However, since these pages now are full,
prepared by rights to take the second song,
the reins of art won’t let me pass beyond.

I came back from that holiest of waves
remade, refreshed as any new tree is,
renewed, refreshed with foliage anew,

pure and prepared to rise towards the stars.

To race now over better waves, my ship
of mind – alive again – hoists sail, and leaves
behind its little keel the gulf that proved so cruel.

And I’ll sing, now, about that second realm
where human spirits purge themselves from stain,
becoming worthy to ascend to Heaven.

Here, too, dead poetry will rise again.
For now, you sacred Muses, I am yours.
So let Calliope, a little, play her part […]

Celestial, at the stern, the pilot stood –
beatitude, it seemed, inscribed on him –
and, ranged within, a hundred spirits more.

‘In exitu Israel de Aegypto’:
they sang this all together, in one voice,
with all the psalm that’s written after this.

[…]

The crowd that now remained, it seemed, was strange,
astray there, wondering, looking all around,
as people do, assessing what is new.

It’s madness if we hope that rational minds
should ever follow to its end the road
that one true being in three persons takes.

Content yourselves with quia, human kind.
Had you been able to see everything,
Mary need not have laboured to give birth.

You saw the fruitless yearning of those men
who might have had that yearning satisfied,
now given them eternally to mourn.

Plato, I mean, and Aristotle, too, and many more with them.’

This final prayer is made, O dearest Lord,
not for ourselves (we now have no such need).
We speak for those behind us, who’ve remained.’

Then praying, for themselves and us, ‘God speed’,
these shadows made their way beneath such loads
as sometimes in our nightmares can be seen. […]

We surely ought to help them cleanse the marks
that they bore hence – till, light in weight and pure,
they’ve power to rise towards the wheeling stars.

We were, by now, ascending that great stair.
And I, it seemed, was lighter now by far
than I had seemed while still on level ground.

So, ‘Tell me, sir,’ I said, ‘what weight has now
been lifted from me, so I almost feel
no strain at all in walking on my way?’

He answered: ‘When the “P”s that mark your brow,
remaining still, though growing now more faint,
have all (as is the first) been sheared away,

your steps will then be conquered by good will
and, being thus impelled towards the heights,
will feel no strain but only sheer delight.’

Because your human longings point to where
portions grow smaller in shared fellowship,
meanness of mind must make the bellows sigh.

If love, though, seeking for the utmost sphere,
should ever wrench your longings to the skies,
such fears would have no place within your breast.

For, there, the more that we can speak of “ours”,
the more each one possesses of the good
and, in that cloister, caritas burns brighter.

You, living there, derive the cause of all
straight from the stars alone, as if, alone,
these made all move in mere necessity.

Yet were that so, in you would be destroyed
the freedom of your will – and justice fail
in giving good its joy and grief its ill.

The stars initiate your vital moves.
I don’t say all. And yet suppose I did,
you’re given light to know what’s good and bad,

and free will, too, which if it can endure
beyond its early battles with the stars,
and if it’s nourished well, will conquer all.

So law is needed to apply this brake.
A king is needed, with the skill to see
the towers of that true city, at the least.

The laws are there. Who sets his hand to these?
There’s no one. For the shepherd out ahead,
though he can chew the cud, has not split hooves.

Neither creator nor created thing
was ever, dearest son, without’ (he starts)
‘the love of mind or nature. You know that.

The natural love can never go astray.
The other, though, may err when wrongly aimed,
or else through too much vigour or the lack. […]

Hence, of necessity, you’ll understand
that love must be the seed of all good powers,
as, too, of penalties your deeds deserve.

If love is slack in drawing you to view –
or win – that good, then this ledge, where we’re now,
after your fit repentance, martyrs you.

And other goods will not bring happiness,
not happy in themselves, nor that good source
of being, seed and flower of all that’s good.

Soon they were on us. For they moved at speed,
racing towards us, that great multitude.
And two ahead were shouting, weepingly. […]

‘Quick! Quick! Let’s lose no time through lack of love!’
so all of those behind now shouted out.
‘For zeal in doing good turns grace new green.’

Because our eyes were fixed on earthly things,
at no point raised to look towards the heights,
so justice sinks them here within the earth.

Since avarice extinguished all our love
for any good – and so good works were lost –
justice here holds us tight within its grip.

Tremors strike here when any soul feels pure
and rises, newly cleansed, to start its climb.
And that cry follows as the soul ascends.

The will alone gives proof of purity
when, wholly free to change its sacred place,
it aids and sweeps the soul up, willing well.

While I, through these green boughs, fixed searching sight
as might some hunter tracking little birds,
who spends his life in vain on that pursuit),
my more-than-father spoke. ‘Dear son,’ he said,
‘do come along. The time appointed us
should be more usefully divided out.’

And all these people, weeping as they sing,
because their gullets led them past all norms,
are here remade as holy, thirsting, hungering.

Cravings to eat and drink are fired in us
by perfumes from that fruit and from the spray
that spreads in fans above the greenery.

Open your heart. Receive the coming truth.
Know this: when once the foetal brain is brought
to full articulation in the womb,

the Primal Cause of Motion turns in joy
to see so much of Nature’s art, and breathes
new breath of spirit filled with power within,

which draws all active elements it finds
into its being and thus forms one soul
which lives and feels and turns as conscious self.

Over my suppliant hands entwined, I leaned
just staring at the fire, imagining
bodies of human beings I’d seen burn.

And both my trusted guides now turned to me.
And Virgil spoke, to say: ‘My dearest son,
here may be agony but never death.

Remember this! Remember! And if I
led you to safety on Geryon’s back,
what will I do when now so close to God?

Believe this. And be sure. Were you to stay
a thousand years or more wombed in this fire,
you’d not be made the balder by one hair.

Then, firmly, Virgil fixed his eyes on me,
saying: ‘The temporal and eternal fires
you’ve seen, my son, and now you’re in a place
where I, through my own powers, can tell no more.

I’ve drawn you here by skill and searching mind.
Now take what pleases you to be your guide.
You’re now beyond the steeps, beyond all straits. […]

No longer look to me for signs or word.
Your will is healthy, upright, free and whole.
And not to heed that sense would be a fault.
Lord of yourself, I crown and mitre you.’

Risen from body into spirit-form,
my goodness, power and beauty grew more strong.
Yet I to him was then less dear, less pleasing.

He turned his steps to paths that were not true.
He followed images of failing good
which cannot meet, in full, their promises.

However, since these pages now are full,
prepared by rights to take the second song,
the reins of art won’t let me pass beyond.

I came back from that holiest of waves
remade, refreshed as any new tree is,
renewed, refreshed with foliage anew,

pure and prepared to rise towards the stars.